


Drinks and Assassins

by alistaircousland



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, alcoholic dorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:30:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7023124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alistaircousland/pseuds/alistaircousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian wants his drinks, but apparently there is a certain assassin that doesn't want that to happen.</p><p>----</p><p>(Not necessarily as simple as summary suggests, though.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drinks and Assassins

**Author's Note:**

> So this is inspired by this post: http://bethesdahs.tumblr.com/post/116593609417/deliciouspineapple-grimsolas-indicates-a about Dorian being alcoholic as a way to cope with his harsh, abused life and... well this happened.

_Crash!_

“Vishante kaffas! Who did that?” Dorian shouted as his bottle of rough dwarven ale crashed to the ground, leaving only the neck in his grasp.

“Who was that?” he hissed, clearly annoyed because _he bought that with money, it was the finest dwarven ale he could get—_ and it’s now broken in pieces.

Nobody answered.

It couldn’t have been Solas, that elf wouldn’t bother judging his drinking habits. Nor would have it been Leliana. Fiona and Helisma no less.

Lavellan? But he would be bound either in his quarters or the war room, since those are the only places you would find the Inquisitor when he’s in Skyhold.

Dorian merely scoffed and went down to the tavern instead. At least he could see whoever was trying to stop him from having his share on alcohol.

\--

_Crash!_

“Again?! Come on!” Dorian banged his fist to the table, groaning loudly and making people look at his direction. The annoyed mage couldn’t bother with them.

“Bull! Was that you?” The Tevinter man marched at the qunari enjoying his sack of mead.

“Hey, Vint. What was me?” The Bull merely smirked as he turned around.

“You were the one who broke my glass!” Dorian said, fuming.

“Nahh, wouldn’t stop anyone having their alcohol.” Bull took a large gulp of his mead while Dorian massaged his own temple, _really_ annoyed by now.

“Want some?” The qunari held the half-full mead to Dorian. The mage considered it for a while and took it, pressing the lips of the sack to his own, and was going to have a gulp before…

_Slash! Slash! Slash!_

“Andraste’s ass! Who the fuck did that?” Right now, he’s _beyond_ irritated.

“Looks like an assassin,” Krem shrugged from Bull’s side.

“COLE!”

\--

”Cole, why, pray tell, did you forbid me to have my drink?” Dorian leaned to the wooden railing across Cole, really keeping his magic within himself so as to not ruin the flimsy wooden building with his fire.

Cole however, only looked at him with a blank stare.

“Cole, it’s not funny.” Dorian pleaded.

“Scared. Angry. Dislike. No, it wasn’t the spirit. Want to keep you safe. Don’t want you to die. No. No. No.” Cole chanted.

Dorian sighed.

“Thanks, Cole.”

“He loves you, Dorian.” That stopped the mage from his steps.

“What?”

“He loves you.”

“Who?”

Cole kept silent.

\--

“Strange things have been happening today.” Artlion said as Dorian entered the Inquisitor’s quarters.

“Yes, hello to you too, amatus. Tell me about it.” He loudly sighed as he wrapped his arms around his elven paramour, nuzzling his nose against the smaller man’s neck.

“I think we need to go to the Hissing Wastes. The presence of Venatori in a deserted, uh, desert, is weird. I think they have something.” Artlion said, still fully concentrated to his work.

“Okay.” Dorian nodded.

“Would you be okay with the desert’s long walks, cold nights, sunny days? I can take Solas or Vivienne instead if you don’t like it.” Artlion finally turned his head to his side and gave Dorian a peck on his cheek.

“Of course I’m okay with it, amatus.”

“Yeah, say that again when you complain about your clothes feeling really dry and  your insides filled with too much sand.” Artlion snickered.

“Shut up.” Dorian huffed.

Artlion laughed, but then he took a letter, carefully placed in a compartment below the desk. “My clan sent me a letter.”

“Oh?”

“Well, my sister. She said the Lavellan clan would be more than honoured to be Inquisition’s elven eyes in the Marches.” Artlion said as he stood up, wincing slightly at the pain on his back from sitting too much.

“That’s good, right?” Dorian’s arms traveled down to his lover’s waist instead, taking them to the direction of the bed.

“Yeah.” Artlion nodded.

“Yeah.” Dorian mimicked.

“So,” Artlion started as Dorian finally found his comfortable place on the elf’s chest, “what about you?”

“It’s weird.” Dorian said.

“Weirder than a hole in the sky?” The blonde elf joked, but Dorian didn’t laugh with him. “Bad joke?”

“Not funny.” Dorian pinched his sides, making Artlion squeal. “But not necessarily weirder than that. Still weird, though.”

“What happened?”

“I kept having my drinks broken.” Dorian said. “My bottle suddenly crashed to the ground, my glass too soon after that, and Bull’s mead was slashed when I wanted to take a sip.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Even weirder, Bull said it looked like an assassin.” The mage hid his face on Artlion’s chest, breathing deeply on his lover’s scent.

“An assassin? Are you hurt?” Artlion took Dorian’s chin in his hand, forcing the human to look at him in the eyes.

“Other than my pride, no.” Dorian answered. “But it wasn’t Cole either. Couldn’t have been Heir, she has no business with me. I couldn’t think of any other assassin than them… wait.”

“Dear Inquisitor, please tell me it wasn’t you.” Dorian pleaded. Artlion didn’t say anything.

“Artlion.”

“Amatus.”

“Lavellan.”

“Fine!” Artlion sat straight up, making Dorian fall to his lap instead. “It was me.”

“How? You were in your  office the whole day! Did you ask for Leliana’s agent to do it?” Dorian asked. He knew he should’ve asked a different question, but that was also important.

“I’m an _assassin_. Which means I’m a rogue. Which means I can _stealth_ , dummy.” Artlion rolled his eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me!” Dorian pinched Artlion’s side again.

“Ouch!”

“Deserved it! Why would you do that?” Dorian asked angrily. When the Inquisitor didn’t say anything, Dorian pinched him again.

“Ouch!”

“Answer me! Why?” Dorian repeated himself, his fingers ready to pinch Artlion’s sides once again—now with small fires forming.

“By the Gods, Dorian, don’t burn me.” Artlion sighed.

“Then tell me why!” Dorian cried.

“Because alcohol would kill you!” Artlion answered  in the same high note. “And I don’t want you to die, okay?”

“It was just a swig, amatus, I won’t die because of it!” Dorian was really frustrated by the way he pulled at his hair.

“Yeah, a swig every few hours, sure, it won’t kill yourself.” Artlion said in a mean tone and a gruff.

“So what? A man need refreshments every now and then. You know that.” Dorian defended.

“Not that often. And not with alcohol every time.” Artlion said in a pained way—Dorian actually felt a slight pang of guilt for making his lover sound like that. “As the Inquisitor, I need my trusted mage to be healthy in every way—including inside. As Artlion Lavellan, I… need to have my partner alive.”

“I’ve been drinking since years ago, Artlion, since you haven’t had your vallaslin, perhaps. I think I’ll be fine.” Dorian laid down to his side of the bed while Artlion was still sitting straight, his head bowed down.

“The thing is, you shouldn’t. That was years ago. I know… I know you used drinking to run away. From, from—from your father. Family, from Tevinter. But you’re not in Tevinter now. Your father isn’t here. You have me to make you feel better. For the Gods, Dorian, I’d rather you fry Cassandra’s training dummies and make her really mad than having you ruin yourself.” Artlion sighed heavily.

“Why do you care?”

“Because I love you.” Artlion sniffed. “And I don’t know when can I meet my clan again—or if I ever will—and I know that the Inquisition won’t stay forever. I don’t want to be left alone.” He slumped in his position. “Besides, you said yourself that you want to go back, to fix Tevinter, to make it better. You couldn’t do that if you fell sick.”

Dorian was taken aback. “I…”

“I just don’t want you to hurt yourself, vhenan. I love you. I need my trusted mage in my side. Thedas needs a better Tevinter. Both things require one man: you, Dorian Pavus. So please, if you feel like drinking, if it felt like you’re drowning, come to me. Or do anything else if I was in one way or another, not present. Just don’t drink too much.” Artlion said, finally laying down next to Dorian, but still not looking at his lover.

After that, they had a partly-awkward, partly-comfortable silence that was broken with Dorian’s soft sob. “Are you crying?” Artlion asked, moving to his side to see Dorian drowning his head to his pillow. The elf, with his strength he had, moved the human’s larger body towards his smaller one, wrapping his arms around Dorian’s neck and hugged him tightly. “I never meant to make you cry. I’m sorry.”

“No.” Dorian shook his head. “Don’t apologize. I love you too, amatus. Thank you.” He kissed the elf’s chest and nuzzled into his amatus’s hold.

“ _Ar lath ma_ , Dorian.” Artlion said.

“Is that an ‘I love you’?” Dorian asked.

“Yes, yes it is. Now please stop drinking, stop talking, and let’s rest.”

“Good night, amatus.”

“Good night, vhenan.”


End file.
